


Ain't Misbehavin'

by MadameHardy



Category: Singin' in the Rain (1952)
Genre: Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHardy/pseuds/MadameHardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don and Kathy go out for a night on the town, but where's Cosmo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Misbehavin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jenga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenga/gifts).



Kathy Selden lounged languidly across the velvet divan, head thrown back and tilted toward the camera, one despairing hand flung across her brow -- away from her sightline -- the other trailing a chiffon kerchief. There was a pageboy with an ostrich fan. Of course there was. You couldn't have a divan without a pageboy, although sometimes his fan was peacock instead of ostrich. Kathy assumed her best "despairing over a cruel lover, a cruel fate, or both" face and waited for the still photographer to finish fiddling whatever a photographer fiddled.

"Look who had a bad sardine for breakfast!" cackled a familiar voice. 

Kathy's tragic mask clenched a bit at the jawline; she made an effort and relaxed her mouth and chin muscles. She couldn't actually reply, because at any moment the photographer might finish fiddling and shoot.

"Cosmo, you're not being fair!" At least **some** one was on her side. "More like a bad prairie oyster!"

Kathy reminded herself that gritting her teeth and chipping a cap would keep her off the set for at least a week, and that would hand Kathy's role in _Ice, Fire, Blood, and Desire_ to that wretched Zelda Zanders. Kathy's chance at a big dramatic role! All-singing all-dancing Kathy Selden was a bona-fide star, but a girl liked to show _range_. Don's profile was his fortune no matter what set he displayed it against, and Cosmo thought drama was for people who couldn't make it in vaudeville, but Kathy wanted some respect.

The flash went off. "Gimme some It, Kathy!" said the photographer and bent to twiddle something. 

Kathy took the opportunity to hiss, "One more word, Cosmo, and I'll fill the gin bottle with water, and then what will you do in the morning?"

"Drink yours, my sweet, drink yours."

"Don, would you _please_ take Cosmo away and feed him a fist or a sandwich? I don't care which. I need to focus." 

"So does the cameraman!" retorted Cosmo brightly.

Don finally took Kathy's side. "Not your best work, Cosmo. Okay, Kathy, you get an hour, then we're taking you away from this den of woe to a den of iniquity. Come on, Cosmo, I know a place that starts serving giggle water at noon."

* * *

At 4:30 precisely Kathy was off the divan, out of the Patou, and into the Duesenberg. Don's green Duesenberg, to be precise; her own was cream, with peach satin seats. Don drove the same way he made love: passionately, but without any particular attention to conventions. In bed, improvisation was a wonderful thing; at top speed on the Pacific Coast Highway, Kathy would have liked a little more conformity, with the rules of the road if not with the speed limit. 

"Don --"

"Shush, Kathy, there's a hay truck in my way."

She shut her mouth and clenched her hands while Don speeded up around the blind curve to pass the dawdling Ford, then relaxed a little as, once again, Don's guardian angel did its (his? her?) job. 

Before Kathy's fingernails had actually drawn blood, Don pulled in at Thelma Todd's Sidewalk Café, tossed the keys to the valet, and leapt out of the car. The valet opened the door and Don handed Kathy out of the car as if somebody were filming. Which, of course, somebody was. Don and Kathy put on their star faces, cuddled into one another, and smiled at the cameras. You couldn't afford to annoy the cameramen; if you did, the fan-magazine pictures would disgrace a drunken chimp.

Duty done, they swept into the café and made their way up the stairs to Joya's Room, which was private except for everybody else in the movie industry -- in other words, not private at all. Kathy spotted gossip-columnist Louella Parsons, in the flesh, and made a mental note to stick to four Orange Blossoms, five at the most. As usual, Thelma was holding court in a corner banquette. Thelma waved them over.

"Where's Cosmo? I thought you three were joined at the hip?"

"I had to wait for Kathy to put on her war paint, so he said he'd drive ahead. We thought he'd beat us here."

Thelma shook her head. "Not hide nor hair. Hope he's not in a meeting with R.F."

Don laughed. "After five? Not a chance."

"Well, take a load off your feet and knock back a Corpse Reviver on the house." Thelma waved at an empty banquette and Kathy and Don, duty done, settled down for the evening. 

A drink, a steak, the world's best view of Sunset over the Pacific... life was pretty good.

* * *

"I'll have another double Martini. Kathy, another of the same?"

Kathy looked doubtful, but before she could speak Don continued.

"We'll both have another, doubles, and keep 'em comin'. It's Saturday night, Kathy, live a little."

There were a couple of pops from downstairs. Probably some tourist getting overexcited with Thelma's 'champagne'. Thelma saved the good stuff for upstairs, but even the stuff on the ground floor had started out as grapes, not rubbing alcohol. More pops followed. A waiter rushed up the stairs, collected himself under Thelma's warning glare, and walked sedately to her table. He bent over and whispered; Thelma's eyebrows hit the ceiling before she, too, collected herself. "Some idiot with a firecracker, nothing to fear! Drinks are on the house!" The customers hurried to the bar, while Thelma followed the waiter downstairs.

Don lifted an eyebrow at Kathy. "Are we going to miss the fun?"

"Never."

They rose and followed their hostess down the stairs, Don going first "in case of cops".

* * *

At the turn of the stairway, Don peeked around the corner and began laughing. "Come along, my most delightful dame, the coast is clear."

There in the ground-floor bar was Cosmo, surrounded by a mass of streamers. A waiter was protesting, but Cosmo just kept throwing them out. Thelma was arguing.

"Cosmo, what the Sam Hill --"

"Language, Thelma --"

"-- do you think you're doing? New Year's is three months away!"

"But celebration springs eternal!" 

Cosmo grasped Thelma around the waist and swung her into a quick ... well, a quick something. It was a bathtub salmagundi of Charleston, Black Bottom, and a touch of Texas Tommy, plus steps that were uniquely Cosmo's. Thelma gave up trying to follow about halfway through and just tried to look graceful, with limited success. It's hard to look your best when shimmying atop a banquette, but Thelma nearly managed it.

At long last Cosmo whirled Thelma off the bar, down into a fish dive, and back up to a barstool. He tried to spin the bar stool for a climax, but, fortunately for Thelma, it didn't. Cosmo kissed Thelma's hand, then posed. The tourists, obviously thinking it was a floor show, burst into cheers.

Thelma sat fanning herself with one hand, temporarily speechless. Don seized the moment.

"You're making a spectacle of yourself, Cosmo. Two spectacles, complete with elephants, dancing girls, and flying trapeze."

"Ish kabibble, Don. I declare a celebration."

"What of?"

"United Artists has signed me to a three-picture deal!"

"Won't RJ--"

"As the producer!"

"Come on upstairs. This calls for another drink!"

So they walked back up the stairs, the three of them, for three drinks, three steaks, and the world's best view of sunset over the Pacific -- for three.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for beta to an anonymous friend.


End file.
